


Old Flame

by starkraving



Series: A Slight Variation [4]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Camille Belcourt Being An Asshole, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Immortal Angst, M/M, Past Magnus Bane/Camille Belcourt, THAT POWER COUPLE TM, being vulnerable domestic partners but also, fucking talking to one another about your feelings and shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 05:33:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14348988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkraving/pseuds/starkraving
Summary: Camille Belcourt wants to bargain information with the Clave. The problem is she won’t give the info to anyone but Magnus which, you know, is terrible. Being Head of the NY Institute is a shitty gig and Alec would prefer to be in bed right now. A one-shot about living that weird warlock dating life and acknowledging that Camille is vampire Hannibal Lecter. Takes place in the gap between Season 2 and 3.





	Old Flame

**Author's Note:**

> Note: small warning for brief implication of past dub-con stuff during some dialogue. Toxic relationships be toxic, kids.

“No,” Alec says.

“I know you hate it,” Isabelle starts to say.

“Fuck no,” Alec says for effect.

“But she’s been around for centuries and anything she can tell us –”

“Why are you still talking?”

“—would be invaluable and worth considering,” Izzy goes on, speaking over her brother in a way that reminds him powerfully of being seven years old. She crosses her arms. “I’m still talking a because the moment the boyfriend part of your brain calms down, you’ll have me back in here repeating myself. So, I’m saying we skip the indignant boyfriend part and get to you being the Head of this Institute.”

“I have paperwork to do.”

“You can do it after we talk.”

“I have ten casefiles to delegate.”

“Delegate this first.”

“I haven’t even had my coffee,” Alec says.

Izzy puts a latte that he’d _assumed_ was for her down on his desk. “You have your coffee.”

“This is an obvious ploy so she can force us to give her something she wants,” Alec relents at last. He sits down, folding his hands on the desk in front of him. “She has nothing. She wants to waste everyone’s time because she’s a vengeful maniac who feeds on attention and chaos. That’s literally all she wants. We should ignore her.”

“I’m not arguing with you, but this is coming straight from Alicante.”

“This coffee sucks,” Alec says.

Izzy slaps the top of his desk. “Buck up, brother. You signed on for this tour so, like, gird your loins or whatever.”

“ _Never_ say to me again.”

Izzy leans her hip against his desk and Alec wonders, idly, who decorated this office. It seems like the Head of the New York Institute should get to decorate his own office, but then again, he’s never considered the existence of an Institute interior decorator much less whether or not they would let him install a padlock on his office door.

Izzy is giving him a look.

“Alec, joking aside, Camille Belcourt still has a lot of influence. Even behind bars. Age means you can trade in information and she is very, very old. In the time since Magnus turned her in, she’s already bartered her way into better treatment and accommodations. She has the ear of some really powerful Council heads and people are _watching_ you to see what you’ll do.”

Alec sips resentfully on his latte.

“I can see you agreeing with me.”

“She’s lying,” Alec says, all trace of previous outrage snuffed to total cold. “She just wants to take a crack at Magnus.”

“You’re probably right,” Isabelle says, “but right now there are a lot of old school Clave looking for a way to ruin your standing.” His sister sits forward. “Clary is a hero right now, which means everyone around her has sun shining out their ass, but the _minute_ you start looking any kind of divided, show any kind of favorism or weakness…”

“I know,” Alec sighs, pressing a thumb into his temple.

Izzy lowers her voice. “She’s saying she’ll give us Duke Romanski and the Berlin Butcher; that she knows where they are and how we can stop them before another massacre like London and Prague.”

“This is such bullshit,” Alec says, rotating the pad of his thumb against the developing migraine.

“One-hundred percent pure, yes, agreed, but you still gotta deal with this.”

“She knows,” Alec says. “She _knows_ , if we tell Magnus she’s bartering, he’ll come. If there’s any chance that it will save lives, he’ll come and just sit there and take her abuse and that’s the whole fucking point. That she gets to be in control. She gets to force Magnus to listen to her. This is exactly what she wants. There is no way she knows where these guys are.”

“But she _might_ ,” Isabelle says quietly.

Alec grimaces. “I have to tell him.”

“Yeah, I think you do.”

“When does the Council want an answer on this?”

“Right away. They’ll want to prep a transfer if this interview is happening.”

“Fine.” Alec drops his hand and sits up, grabbing the pile of case files. “Tell them the New York branch is broaching the topic with Magnus, but we can’t force him to cooperate. He’s High Warlock of Brooklyn, but that doesn’t mean he needs to put himself in a room with this woman.”

Izzy nods. “I’ll take care of it.”

“I’ll call Magnus. And Simon if this is really happening.”

“Hey. It’ll be okay,” Isabelle says, reaching across the table to touch his arm. She gives Alec a comforting kind of smile, warm and very essentially Izzy. “This is just chess, big brother. She’s in a jailcell. Old fuckin’ news.”

Alec manages a smile. “Thanks, Izzy.”

He waits until she’s gone before dropping the smile and rubbing two hands over his face, dragging his fingers through his hair to the back of his neck. He eyes his latte and the pile of casefiles and the dozen authorization forms he needs to review and thinks about 5am this morning, rolling over in bed and fitting his hand over someone’s ribs and pulling them closer. About the smell of sandalwood and the faint ether of cologne 24-hours faded on the skin. About a slow, lazy, laugh and sunlight creeping across the wall in yellow.

“Old news,” he mutters.

 

* * *

 

“That’s the plot from _Silence of the Lambs_ and you should not do it,” Simon says loudly.

“Thanks for your input,” snaps Alec. “Keep your voice down.”

Alec standing in the parking lot of the Jade Wolf which means his terrible morning is pressing on toward a super terrible afternoon. Simon looks like he may or may not have just rolled out of his canoe at the warehouse to come meet him. Usually, Alec would have kept this kind of thing to a phonecall, but the facts of the case compelled him to be diplomatic in service to guy’s feelings.

Which, apparently, he’d overestimated in their sensitivity.

“Do you even know what Silence of the Lambs is?” Simon demands.

Alec jabs a finger at Simon. “Shut up. I am obligated to inform you that your sire may be back in New York as part of an active investigation and because you’re a friend.”

“Wait, are we friends?” Simon asks, sounding both surprised and delighted.

Alec blinks. “Well, not by the end of this conversation if you want to keep –”

“No, no! Friends is good.”

Alec eyes Simon for a solid five threatening seconds before going on. “Look, I don’t know that it will happen for sure, but I didn’t think it would be right to consider doing this without at least informing you. That said, you can’t talk to anyone about this outside the Clave. If we do this and she transfers here, the less people know about it the better.”

“Why?” Simon says, some of his previous energy waning.

“Camille is old and powerful,” Alec answers. “I wouldn’t put it past her to orchestrate a transfer as part of a break out attempt of some kind. So keep your guard up. I’ve arranged for you to stay at the Institute if you’d like to hide out there during the course of this whole thing. It’s up to you.”

Simon is visibly nervous now. “Oh, uh, do you really think it’s necessary?”

“Probably not. But I’m taking every precaution.”

“I think I’d rather stay as far away as possible.”

“I don’t blame you even a little bit,” Alec says, digging his phone out of his pocket.

Simon is shifting his weight a bit restlessly. “Is… do you think Magnus will do it?”

“I have no idea,” Alec says, tapping out a text with his thumb.

“I’m not joking about the _Silence of the Lambs_ thing though. Camille is straight up Hannibal Lecter to Magnus’ Clarice. You don’t put Clarice in a room with Lecter, man, it’s gonna get scary.”

“I’m going to assume you’re making a movie reference I don’t understand,” Alec enunciates.

“Well, okay, essentially Lecter is a super smart psychologist-level serial killer who can talk people into doing terrible shit to themselves. He gets in your head. It’s literally called the Hannibal Lecture in media. Don’t let her Hannibal Lecture you, Alec.”

“I honestly did not ask,” Alec says, still texting.

“Look,” Simon insists, gesturing with quick nervous swoops of the hand. “Magnus did me a huge solid bringing Camille in. He really didn’t want to do it and he barely knew me at the time and it would just… _really_ suck if this thing gets dragged back out again you know?” He emits a nervous kind of laugh that sounds a bit like a he’s being strangled. “We skinned this cat already, you know. The cat is, like, skinless. It’s weird to bring it back out now.”

Alec looks up from his phone. “ _What_?”

“Okay, that… that phrasing was a bit less than stellar.”

“I appreciate the concern. But from here on out, this is really Magnus’ call.”

Simon fidgets earnestly. “Do you think he should do it?”

“No,” Alec says. “But again, it’s his call. I’m meeting him next.”

“Hey, you know, I’m sure no matter what happens, everything will be fine.”

Alec sighs, checking his phone. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“No really.”

Alec looks up. Simon is giving him a very, very earnest look. It’s a little unnerving coming from a small Jewish boy with bedhead and no heartbeat in the middle of a werewolf dive parking lot, but weirdly reassuring. It reminds Alec randomly of Clary Fray at her finest and in that moment he can see why the two of them have been a package deal since grade school. He lowers the phone.

“Thanks, Simon.”

Simon beams.

“I’ll see you around.”

“Let me know if I can help or… or whatever.”

Alec waves as he walks away. He dials. Breathes deeply. Puts the phone to his ear.

“Hey, I’m about fifteen minutes out. No, I don’t need a portal. I’m walking. Using the walk to get a few things done.” He glances over his shoulder, but Simon is already gone. “Yeah. Sorry. It’s Clave business. It’s not even me really, it’s Alicante. They’re asking me to ask you basically.”

A beat.

“I don’t know what that means. What is a ‘Scooby-gang?’” He tolerates the ensuing laughter for about three whole seconds. “Okay. Ha ha. I didn’t watch cartoons as a kid.” He mutters, “Jackass,” but try as he might, he can’t keep the grin out of his voice. “You still okay to meet?” He tries to ignore the small sick clench in his chest when he gets an affirmative. “Great. See you soon, Magnus.”

He hangs up.

“Fuck,” he mutters and texts Izzy an update.

 

* * *

 

Magnus looks out of place in a way that improves the rest of the room that he’s in, like a remarkable object placed in an everyday environment purely for the sake of contrast. Which is a weird thing to think about someone when you walk into an upscale cafe, but it’s Alec’s first thought as he comes in. The café smells like good coffee, scones, and the made-to-order breakfast sandwiches behind the bar. Sunlight is angling through the store-front windows and laid in slats along the hardwood counters and floor.

Magnus is seated at the bar stirring a cup of tea.

You’d never know, looking at him, that he’s one of the most dangerous Downworlders in New York. Mostly he just looks a well-dressed Asian guy with amazingly good shoes. You’d never know he’s detonated buildings in his time. Changed the course of wars. Banished demons to a howling fucking dark time and again. 

For the casual observer, he’s just a dude frowning at Spenda packets at the bar.

For a moment, he doesn’t see Alec standing there looking at him and for a moment Alec considers this morning in another context, one where he gets to admire his partner’s profile without any underlying urgency. On another morning, he could just like the spot where Magnus’ lower back meets his waist or admire the line of his jaw and the fact he just buzzed the short part of his hair and his lines are razor sharp right now.

Another morning, he could just note Magnus is wearing this red button down and black vest combination thing that Alec is very into and it looks like he took it easy on the pomade this morning, which is only relevant if you’re thinking about running your fingers through his hair.

Which, well…

“Magnus.”

He looks up at his name, smiles.

“Good morning again,” he says, swiveling to face Alec. “Long time no see.”

“A whole three hours,” Alec says, joining the warlock at the counter.

“Can’t complain about a brunch business meeting,” Magnus says, picking up his tea mug. “Though, it begs curiosity. You’re being moderately circular about the purpose of this sit down, so I can only surmise I won’t like it very much.”

Alec grimaces. “Yeah.”

Magnus puts the mug down. “Oh, dear. That serious?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“You’re using your office voice, so it must be.”

Alec blinks. “My _what_ voice?”

“You know, your office voice. The one when you’re trying to be especially professional and Shadowhunter-y. Your _official Clave business_ voice.” He puts on a kind of weird halting baritone as he says that last part. There is a hint of a smirk in the corner of Magnus’ mouth before he goes on, “You don’t really use it with me anymore, so it must be very serious.”

Alec wants to lean into this banter. Desperately. But…

“Magnus.”

The smirk vanishes. “What is it, Alexander?”

“The Clave wanted me to talk to you because Camille has come forward with information about two rogue vampires out of Europe.” Alec tries to read a reaction out of Magnus’ expression, but the warlock’s poker face is presently immaculately neutral. He goes on. “She says she knows their location and how to capture them. Today if we wanted. The catch is… she won’t talk to anyone but you.”

Magnus nods and looks back at his tea mug.

“I see.”

“You don’t have to do it,” Alec says immediately.

Magnus raises a hand and Alec waits.

“In what capacity does she want to talk to me?” Magnus asks.

“Controlled environment. Face to face. But, again, you don’t have to do any of it.”

Magnus rests his elbows on the counter. He knits his fingers together and thinks, his hands pressed against his mouth so Alec can’t quite read his face or the long pensive stare his putting through the pastry display case in front of him. He’s tense for sure. Alec can feel and see that just looking at him. He might be breathing a little faster, but only just.

“Which vampires did she mention?”

“Duke Romanski and Richard Kain, the Berlin Butcher.”

Magnus makes a face. “Okay. She’s not pulling punches then. Romanski and Kain ran in her circles even into the two-thousands. If anyone would know their location and have pull to bring them in… it’s probably her.”

“I think it’s bullshit,” Alec says.

“Maybe, but if it’s not…”

“She just wants you in a room with her.”

“You’re probably right,” Magnus says. “But if there is even a chance that seeing me will get you this information… then I’m obligated to try. And I mean as High Warlock, not as your boyfriend.”

“You’re not responsible for protecting everyone,” Alec points out. “High Warlock is specifically a position for protecting your people. It’s _my_ job to worry about mundanes and other Downworlders.”

“No,” Magnus says, tone colder than usual. “Romanski killed two warlocks that I know of, used their blood to fuel slaughters during inter-clan feuds. Camille would know I have an interest bringing him down.”

Alec folds his arms on the bar.

“Damn. She’s got our number.”

“Yeah,” says Magnus.

There’s a long pause.

“Alexander, she’s going to bring up parts of my history purely for the purpose of driving a wedge between us.” Magnus’ jaw is tight as he says this. “I don’t imagine she’ll have any compunction to hold back any details, however intimate or ancient history. She may lie. She may not. It probably will not shock you to know I haven’t shared every part of my history with you, for reasons both personal and pragmatic.”

He looks at the bar between his elbows.

“I know it bothers you that I’m not always forthcoming about my past.”

“You don’t owe it to me to tell me everything,” Alec says, though, a part of him buzzes like a poked nerve as he says it.

In the back of his brain he can hear his own voice saying, _You don’t owe it to me, but I kind of wish you’d tell me anyway._ He ignores this voice like he always does.

Magnus says nothing for a moment.

Then, “In the mid eighteen-fifties I lost about a year with Camille.” He picks up his tea mug and takes a drink. “I think Institute records indicate we were generally moving around Europe but that’s not exactly right. I was traveling with her clan at the time.” He set the mug down, leaving his hand around the ceramic. “I literally don’t remember most of that year.” He shrugs. “I’m confident I didn’t use my magic for anything untoward during that time, but Camille’s general rise to power does hold an alarming correlation.”

Alec sits, frozen on this café bar stool feeling very unprepared for the sudden pivot in tone.

“You… don’t remember the year?” Alec says slowly.

“Camille and I worked best together when I was self-destructive,” he says matter-of-factly, flatly, utterly clinically. He affects the demeanor of a historian giving an account of a rather boring period in ancient Greece or the War of 1812. He goes on. “At the time, I simply registered that she made me happy and, to her credit, I did come to be independently happy which I can partially attribute to our time together. That said, she… _bored_ of my being that way.”

“Happy?” Alec says, dread creeping down his spine.

“Yes.” Magnus is running the tip of his finger around the lip of his mug. “I was in love with her. I thought she was in love with me.” He stops. His fingertip presses against the edge of the ceramic. “To be fair, the first time she bit me, I _did_ ask her to do it –”

“You don’t have to tell me this,” Alec says suddenly, realizing what’s happening. He moves forward, taking Magnus’ hand away from the mug and holding it, squeezing tight. “Magnus, I want you tell me everything about your life, but on your own time. Not hers. If you want to tell me every terrible thing you think you’ve done, great, but do it when you want to. I can wait.”

Magnus looks at him.

Alec isn’t sure what that look is – some soft cross between affection and… something else. Something almost like regret or fear or... He’s not sure what to do with that look. What is means in the context of this story, this morning, in this café that smells like scones and coffee. So Alec leans forward and fits a hand to the side of Magnus’ face, his thumb set against the place where jaw meets his ear.

“Hey. Talk to me,” Alec says.

“I don’t know what to do,” Magnus admits.  “Camille has seen some of the worst parts of my history and she’ll want to drag into the open and I don’t want you to hear any of it… but also I don’t you to feel like I’m hiding things from you.”

“You are centuries old,” Alec says dryly. “I think the slightly redacted version of events just saves time. Really. I would prefer you keep some stuff to yourself.”

Magnus huffs a little. “Don’t make me laugh. I’m being serious, Alexander.”

“So am I. _God_. Who has time to hear you go through the Middle Ages?” Alec squeezes Magnus’ hand again, feels him return the grip so he pushes on. “Especially since you probably weren’t there and you’re just making it up to annoy other warlocks. Like, I never understood the phrase ‘glaring daggers’ until you made that joke about Queen Elizabeth and the Bleeker Brothers looks like they were going to shit a brick about it.”

Magnus has his face buried in one hand, shoulders jerking with laughter.

“I mean, honestly, give me the footnotes and the highlights and show me a few really bad haircuts in historical textbooks.”

Magnus can’t seem to stop laughing. He muffles a really unsexy snort.

“Your Clave file has some really unflattering ones, by the way.”

“Stop,” Magnus gasps.

Alec pulls a face. “Hmm, I dunno. I feel like you’re not taking this seriously. If you feel the urge to take me in detail through the sixties. Don’t.”

Magnus seems to get a hold of himself finally. He uses the new stability to reach up, fit a hand to the side of Alec’s jaw and kiss him. Alec closes his eyes. Aware in fragments; of his own fingers against the counter top next to him, the way Magnus angles his head a little after he catches his breath, the quiet rattle of coffee mugs being stacked in the back somewhere. There’s a bitter tang of green tea on his breath that invites Alec to push into the contact, but he doesn’t. He just… stays close.

“Thank you,” Magnus says. The syllables are breath against Alec’s lips.

“I am taking you seriously,” Alec says.

“I know.”

“No matter what she says, I would never hold the past against you.”

“That’s not a blanket statement you should make,” Magnus says, eyeing him. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”

“How about this: I would never put you in a position to be hurt.”

Magnus sighs and leans back, putting two hands on Alec’s shoulders. “I know. And frankly… this shouldn’t be as stressful as I’m making it out to be… it’s just talk.”

“Yeah. And if she annoys me, I can just box her up back Edris.” Alec shrugs. “No harm done.”

“Fine. Let’s do it.” Magnus picks up his drink again. “I’ll try out my Clarice Starling impression.”

“Who the _fuck_ is Clarice?” Alec says.

Magnus spits his tea immediately and Alec figures maybe everything will be fine after all. 

 

* * *

 

“I hate this,” says Clary Fray.

“Hard same,” says Isabelle.

“Do you get this channel in HD?” says Magnus.

“Stop talking,” says Alec, watching the security monitor closely.

Clary and Isabelle are hovering at his elbows, glaring at the screen in front of them. Magnus is sitting on the edge of the desk, likewise peering at the screen.

They’re cloistered in one of the partitioned security rooms where they can watch a live feed from the Institute’s main holding vault. The single cell is three concrete and magic-infused walls, an iron-silver lined vault-door, and a single clear wall facing the main foyer and the camera. This provides an unobstructed view of the pale, shockingly beautiful prisoner seated cross-legged in the middle of the cell, waiting.

Camille Belcourt looks the way a Grecian statute might look – cold and inanimate under the harsh fluorescents. Inhumanly lovely. Her dark stare is fixed, intent, on the elevator door across the room as she awaits new arrivals. She doesn’t even look alive in the video feed, just a fixed potential hatred, inert until given stimuli. It’s deeply vampiric and unsettling.

“She looks like a lizard,” Isabelle says.

Magnus arches a brow, looking sidelong at her.

“Fine. She’s pretty. Sixteenth century you had great taste or whatever. Look, unless you tell me not to be mean, I’m gonna be mean by default.” Isabelle drums her nails on the desk. “I’m sick of this chick.”

“Trust me, after two centuries, I relate,” says Magnus. He hops off the desk, pivoting on one foot and clasping his hands together. He’s wearing a few more rings than normal, mostly silver titanium. His jacket is black and extremely structured, panels build in like armor. “Okay. Whenever you’re ready. Let’s do this.”

Alec says, “I can stay up here if you think it would be better to go solo.”

Magnus smiles, a radiance of sunshine. “If you send me in there by myself I will punch you right in the skull.”

“Noted. Izzy. Clary. Kill the mics on the security feed. I don’t want any recordings. I’ll get you on my cell or signal if we need other people in there.”

Isabelle nods.

“My team is on stand-by. The moment we know where these bastards are, we’ll be right on top of them.” She catches Magnus’ arm he starts to follow Alec out the door. “Hey. Magnus. Just a sec.”

She takes his hand between her palms, gripping tightly.

Magnus blinks.

“You should know everyone appreciates this. The Butcher killed seven Shadowhunters last year in London alone.” She squeezes. “If we bring him down because of this, it’ll be a huge deal.”

Magnus lays a hand over Isabelle’s. He smiles. “I’ll do my best.”

Izzy smiles, then jumps forward a bit to get her arms around Magnus shoulders, hugging tight.

“She’s a bitch and you’re awesome,” she whispers loudly.

“Hmm. I can always count on a Lightwood to make me feel better,” Magnus says fondly.

Izzy steps back, smiling. “Go get ‘em.”

The only way to access the vault is through the war room, the New York Institute’s primary hub of activity. The on-duty crew send cursory glances their way as Alec and Magnus enter the war room elevator together and Alec uses his security rune to activate the lift. Magnus loops his hands behind his back, rocking back on his heels while the doors shut. He’s fidgeting, his fingers behind his back moving through a series of minute incantation patterns. A restless tic.

Alec immediately hits the emergency brake.

“What –” Magnus starts to say.

Alec turns and cups both hands behind Magnus’ head, kisses Magnus so hard the warlock’s back hits the elevator wall. Alec feels him respond. Feels a hand close in the hair at the back of his own skull and he groans a little, pushes forward. Magnus feels hot to the touch, like there’s a live current running just under his skin. His mouth tastes weirdly of copper. Alec kisses him, until they’re both breathing hard and Magnus has both hands knotted behind his neck.

“For courage,” Alec breathes.

“Thanks,” Magnus says, somewhat strangled. “I feel very brave now.” 

Alec steps back. Magnus snaps his fingers, instantly fixing his rumpled clothes and hair. The doors open. The vault air is cold and sterile. Chemical almost. Across the room, Camille Belcourt rises to her feet in a slow, then snap-shot jump, of motion specific to her kind. She smiles. As they cross the room, drawing closer, Alec keeps one pace behind Magnus. His heartrate is up. He hates it, but it is. Watching Magnus close the distance between them and the former vampire queen of NYC has his nerves adrenaline slick.

“Hello, love,” she says. “You look well.”

Alec goes to take up a position against the nearest wall, listening. Magnus moves to stand directly in front of Camille. He folds both arms, expression neutral under the vault lights.

“Camille.” He inclines his head. “I hope Idris has been treating you fairly.”

She laughs. Her voice shivers in the walls, buzzing with some passive undertone that crawls up the spine and directly into the brain. Vampiric influence on her tongue like silver. She folds her arms, tapping one finger against her porcelain chin.

“You like this new one, don’t you?” She jerks her head toward Alec who very carefully maintains his indifferent outward demeanor. “I can tell. How about this: I intend to make it my personal pet project to see him dead at your feet.”

“That will be difficult from inside a box,” Magnus says, brushing the threat off like it’s his job. He knocks a knuckle against the glass. “And since Alec is the Head of the New York Institute, he could end this meeting now and just have you stuffed in transport tube. So I would behave.”

Camille looks at Alec. “That one?”

Alec just kind of does a two-finger salute. “I’m just supervising this meeting,” he says. “Ignore me.”

“Huh,” Camille says, like she’s learned a new piece of trivia. She looks back to Magnus. “You sent me into my enemies, lover. Did you know whether or not they would _kill_ me for my crimes? Or did you even care?”

Magnus _shrugs_.

“Oh.” She presses a hand over her heart. “ _Cold_.”

“The only reason I’m here is because you’re withholding information.” Magnus narrows his eyes. “So what do you want?”

“To know if you miss me yet.”

“I will _never_ miss you,” Magnus says.

“Ugh. You’ve said _that_ before.” She rolls her eyes then smiles, fangs glittering from her pretty lips. “And you remember what happened last time.” She taps a fingertip against the glass, producing a dull pulse-like thump. “Or should I remind you?” She taps again, a two-two beat. “I mean, those were some very good years if I recall.”

“Don’t,” Magnus says.

“Don’t you ever get sick of retraining all your toys to _fuck_ you properly?” She runs the tip of one finger down the glass, eyeing him as she does. “That must get old.”

Magnus sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.

“Are you just going to start describing my sexual history from, literally, a century ago. Because, you can but it’s a bit childish. Not to mention irrelevant.” He drops his hand and looks back up at Camille. “Like you,” he says.

Her smile fades.

“You’re very irrelevant both to me and this city right now, so instead of boring me, can you just say what you want to say and get this done with?”

Camille’s smile has gone completely. What’s left isn’t an expression really, just a… void in the shape of a woman’s face. She doesn’t say anything, just stands there staring while Magnus waits. The silence has a weight in it, a shiver down in the nerves.

“You’re breaking my heart,” Camille says, her expression still completely vacant of emotion. “You’re so… disappointing.” She shakes her beautiful head. “I really hoped you’d be something interesting but, now, I think I should have let you kill yourself on that bridge in London.”

Magnus goes stiff. Alec can see his fingers dig into his biceps where he has his arms folded, the lines of muscle in his forearms flexing from the pressure. For a moment, Alec wonders if he should stop this. If this is all just useless fucking torture for the sake of nothing and he’s crazy to have entertained it at all. He should have said ‘no’. Made a better executive decision. Magnus shouldn’t be standing in a Clave vault tolerating this on his behalf and –

“I hoped,” Magnus says, breaking the quiet. “I _do_ keep hoping that the woman I met in London… was more than just a phase for you.” He never breaks his eye contact with her, does not flinch. “But the longer we both go on, the more I’m convinced that woman doesn’t actually exist.”

Camille presses a palm to the glass, leans so close she could kiss the pane.

“It’s so strange, but I feel very similarly about you, Magnus. I do. But with one key difference.” She taps her finger against the glass and it’s such a gentle motion but the hideous strength behind it makes a boom out of each impact. “I know that the man from London is real. I know that no matter how much you change your hair and your clothes and your friends and who you fuck that in the end… _that_ man is _exactly_ who you are.”

Magnus opens his mouth immediately, starts to say something… and he falters.

Alec steps away from the wall. “Okay. We’re done here,” he says.

“I’m fine,” Magnus snaps.

Alec feels that barb, but lets it roll off his position here. “No. She’s wasting my time and resources. I have better things to do than indulge this woman’s tantrum.”

Camille _looks_ at him then. Her stare is strangely _clear_ , hyper-detailed in his awareness somehow. Like he has a dozen sensory enhancement runes running at once, but she’s just… looking at him. He doesn’t let on outwardly the way that her looking at him feels like something sliding under his skin and running fingers into the spaces between nerve and bone, not quite triggering a sensation but the _potential_ of a sensation. He unfolds his arms, squaring his stance.

Alec maintains his difference. “You’ve got thirty seconds to make me care about this conversation, Camille.”

“Oh, you already care,” Camille says. “You care so much you want to puke, I think.”

“Okay. _Fifteen_ seconds. I’m done with this.”

“It’s pathetic Magnus needs children to defend him.” Camille turns back to Magnus, bares her fangs at him. “I swear to _god_ , the older you get the _weaker_ you are.” She laughs. “You’re no immortal. You’re one tragedy and razor blade away from mortality.”

“That’s it,” Alec says reaching for his phone.

“The Butcher of Berlin is living in a townhouse in New Zealand,” says Camille, rolling her eyes. She looks at Alec through a silky wave of her brunette hair, framing one side of her face in a perfect waterfall. “Are you ready? I’m going to give you the address, little shadowhunter. Don’t miss it. One Four Three Nine One North Eighty-Fifth Ave. City of Pennylane. He’ll have four living victims in his basement so I’d be cautious going in.” She smiles. “Go on. Have your team confirm.”

She looks at Magnus. Her smile widens.

“I’ll wait.”

Magnus steps away from the glass and moves to join Alec.

“Tell me it’s real,” Magnus says quietly. Alec feels his hand against his lower back, the warlock leaning a little too close against his elbow, maximizing contact. “Her information.”

Alec keeps his professional demeanor. “Izzy and the away team are deploying a portal already. They’ll know. It’s day time, so he’ll be trapped if it’s real.”

“It could be a trap,” Magnus points out. “Do you want me to go in with the extraction team?”

“No. That’s like sending an airstrike for a burglary, Magnus. Izzy knows what to look for. She won’t be caught off guard.” Alec glances at the man beside him. “We can stop. We don’t have to keep this going. You don’t have to listen to this bullshit.”

“I’m okay,” Magnus says, winking. “I may or may not be playing it up for her benefit. Sure, some of it hurts, but like you said. It’s just talk.”

Alec weighs that statement. Assesses it for truth. His instinct says Magnus is lying through his teeth about being okay but calling him on it doesn’t seem like the right move. Making him admit that Camille is, in fact, tearing his guts out in front of a live audiences doesn’t seem like it’ll help so…

“Magnus, even if _you’re_ okay with it, _I_ am really not.” He lowers his voice. “An Institute under my watch should not be trading on someone’s personal discomfort to get results. The only reason she’s even here is because she’s been dealing with Alicante and I fucking hate that.”

Magnus reflexively grabs his hand. “It’s okay,” he says. “Just think of the good this will do.”

Alec grips the warlock’s hand back.

“I’m telling you right now. I’m gonna call it if she keeps pushing things.”

“I’ll be okay,” Magnus says. “I’m not a teacup, Alexander. This is not _that_ dramatic.”

“I know that. You’re the strongest person I know.”

Alec’s cell starts to ring. He picks up.

“Izzy?”

“It’s real. We bagged the bastard in his coffin.” He can hear movement and voices in the background. Shouting. “Tell Magnus it’s good and all the hostages were taken alive. We’re portalling this fucker straight to Edris. The second away team is ready, brother. Give me the word.”

Alec hangs up. “They got him. Everyone’s safe.”

Magnus exhales loudly and claps Alec on the shoulder. “Then let’s keep going.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, Alec. I’m good.” He leans up and Alec ducks down to meet him, exchanging a brief, but urgent kiss. “For luck,” he says, cheerfully.

Then he turns away and walks back to Camille’s cell. She’s sitting cross-legged again, waiting, her elbow resting on her knees and her fingers knitted below her chin. She smiles when Magnus stops in front of her.

“Get him?”

“Yes.”

“Great. Now. Before I tell you where Romanski is, I need you to answer a few questions.”

“Like?”

“Did you cry when you heard Imatsu had died?”

Magnus stares. “Are you really doing this?”

“Answer me.”

“Yes. Next question.”

“Do you still think about him?”

“Yes. Next question.”

“What about Manish and Oberon?”

Magnus glares. “Yes. I did and I do.”

“Lucy?”

“Fuck you.”

Alec can’t remember the last time he heard Magnus say something like that to anyone. Even in the heat of a fight. His hands are open at his sides but tense. Alec recognizes it. That the precursor to a spell, like he’s going to _attack_ and it occurs to him, in a stunned delay, that if Magnus loses his shit in the vault that he actually does not have a contingency to stop him.

“Magnus,” Alec says, carefully, but loudly.

That seems to shake him out of it. His hands relax and he nods at Alec.

“Hmm, you two are cute together,” Camille says, chin propped in one hand. “Tell you what. I’ll tell you where Romanski is right now if Mr. Lightwood stops scowling and gives you a kiss for me. What do you think?”

“Don’t be disgusting,” Magnus snaps.

“I’ll be whatever I want. You put me here. This is what I am when I’m here.”

“Then you’ll always be vile, because you’re never getting out again.”

She laughs. “Oh, you know that’s hardly true. Give it time, Magnus. Like anything. On a long enough timeline…”

“You’re wrong.”

“On a long enough timeline, you’ll come back. You’ll try to fight it I can see you doing it now. You’ll clutch to this feeling and you’ll say ‘ _I’m never going to forget she said this. I will never, never go back to her. I will never forgive or contextualize this. Ever’’_ And for a few centuries maybe that will be true. Or maybe not even that long. But eventually, you’ll think, ‘I just need to talk to someone…’”

Magnus’ hands are fists. “You’re wrong.”

“You say that, but it’s already happened once.” She rolls her neck, lazily, like she’s limbering up. She switches to French, but Alec’s translation runes play it back to him like an overlay. She’s dropped her voice an octave. She’s quoting: “ _This is the last time, Camille. This is the last time.”_ She touches her neck with slender fingers, run them up into her hair. _“You’re the just the only one who knew them.”_

Then she _laughs._

Magnus immediately turns away, one hand covering his mouth.

Alec shoves away from the wall. “Okay. We’re done.” He grabs Magnus by the arm, feels the stagger in his orientation. “We’re done. C’mon.”

“I’m fine,” Magnus says.

“I don’t care. We’re through. This isn’t right. I’m calling it.”

“Romanski is in Beijing,” Camille sings. She’s leaning forward, head tilted, like you summon a recalcitrant puppy. “Mr. Lightwood. Pay attention. I’ll tell you where he is.”

“Go,” Alec says quietly, touching Magnus’ back. “Get out of here. I’ll deal with her. This is literally my job now. Just go.”

Magnus nods. He walks away, heading for the elevator.

Camille raises her voice. “When you’re ready, I’ll tell you about eighteen-fifty-five.”

Magnus stops… then shakes his head and keeps walking.

“Yeah. I’ll see you,” Camille drawls. She lies back, folding her hand behind her head. She smiles at the ceiling, for all the world like a satiated cat. “Okay, Mr. Lightwood. Are you ready? You can find the warlock killer hiding out with Clan Shum-Lee. It’s run by a very old and vicious bitch of a vamp, but if you trade her a baby vamp named Jackie Feng, a Chinese-American your San Fran branch has in holding, she’ll give you Romanski in a blink.”

Alec dials Izzy.

When he hangs up, Camille says, “Was that as good for you as it was for me?”

“Hope that was fun.” Alec pockets his phone, not looking at her. “It’s never happening again.”

“Enjoy your time with him. He’ll make your life worth living, I promise you that.”

Alec thinks she’s laying bait… but he’s curious.

“Yeah. That’s the idea,” he says.

She sits up. “You shouldn’t worry. He won’t leave you even when you’re old and grey. He’ll stay with you. Hell, he’ll probably help you live a hundred years or more.”

Alec blinks. “Okay. Why are you telling me this?”

“You’re mistaken. You think I’m jealous.” She shrugs. “I’m not. You’re welcome to your time with Magnus. I don’t blame you at all. He’s lovely and he’ll make you unstoppable.” She smiles. “I mean, who’s going to challenge a man with Magnus Bane at his back?”

Alec tilts his head. “I don’t use Magnus to get power, Camille.”

“Aren’t you doing that right now?”

“No. You’re setting things up to it makes it seem like that’s the case. But I’m not twelve and so I know it’s your fault. Not mine. So… anything else?”

“Scrappy, aren’t you?”

“That’s what I’m told. Good-bye, Camille. If this info doesn’t check out, I’m putting you in a hole.”

Alec turns away.

“In eighteen-fifty-five my clan and I basically owned him.”

Alec stops.

“He doesn’t know.” She’s inspecting her nails. “I think he suspects but won’t look into it. He was so high on venom for that entire year, he doesn’t remember anything, but you can get a lot done for a clan if you have enough power in your veins. That’s warlock blood. Performance enhancement but on a grand scale.” She’s smiling. “I wonder what you’d think of him, if you knew what he was like back then? I heard your sister had a Yin-Fen addiction for a minute. Can you imagine being addicted, constantly, relentlessly, for a year? With a whole clan to give you the bite whenever you wanted?”

“Stop.”

“You know what you’ll do to get the bite when you’re that deep in a thrall?”

 “Shut up.”

“Don’t worry. It’s not like he _remembers_. I do, but those sweet memories are just for me.” She smiles. “Unless you want to hear…?”

Alec turns around. “Say another word and I will come in there myself and dust you.”

“Ooh, that’s not very professional. Head of the New York Institute can’t keep his emotions in check.” She clicks her tongue. “Guess they shouldn’t hire so young for this role.”

“You’re insane,” Alec says.

“And you’re a bookmark, babe.” She tilts her head. “Here’s the thing, Mr. Lightwood. I’m sure he loves you now. Hell, he always loves the ones that are in front of him. It’s like… standing in the sunshine, isn’t it? When he loves you. It _warms_ you. You feel so beautiful and perfect and wanted when he wants you. I understand. I’ve been there, so I’m not jealous.” She shrugs. “I can’t be.”

“Because you’ve never loved him, Camille.”

“No. I do.” She seems genuinely confused by his statement. “It’s just not in a way he understands. No, what I mean is I can’t be jealous because you can’t be jealous of a mayfly.”

“Are we _really_ doing the mortal vs immortal thing?”

“Heh. No. you’re not listening. There is no you versus me. There’s just… me.” She raises her arm in a ta-da kind of way. “See, I’ve never been jealous of the ones that come and go because, in the end, you always go.”

“Okay,” Alec says, waving a hand. “Keep telling yourself that.”

“That’s what time does, Alec.” She leans her hands against the glass, shouting after him as he walks away.” Not that you would know!”

Again, Alec stops.

He knows he shouldn’t… but…

“Enough time,” she sing-songs, “for long enough, wearing away all wounds until familiarity and loneliness bring us back full circle.” She’s making a loop with her hand when he turns to look at her. She’s smiling. “In cycles, honey, like wavelengths moving parallel until, for a time, we sync up perfectly again. Eventually, he’ll need me. That’s what love looks like to an immortal: like an ocean ebbs and flows.”

“You’re lying,” Alec says.

“Oh, shut up and pay attention.” She sits forward, enunciating like he’s deaf. “You can never know him. You can never share history with him. You will never have context. You can never develop enough time with him to love him, fuck him, eat up every detail until you know every finger stroke and syllable to make him fall apart, until you get bored of him and leave him and come back again when he’s new.”

She presses fingertips into her collarbones.

“That’s what I can do. Over and over. You’re temporary. I am fucking constant. You’ll be dust and he’ll be begging my name. Centuries after your bones are sand, I’ll have him, now look me in the eye and tell me he fucking loves you, you gnat.”

Alec doesn’t remember moving to stand in front of her cell, but he’s there suddenly. His hand against the glass. Camille’s eyes are colorless, pitiless, and dark in her baby-doll face.

“He loves me,” Alec says. And he means it to the fucking core him. Down to his bones, he means it, can see her seeing it, that it’s totally completely and utterly true…

And she says, “So what?”

And laughs.

 

* * *

 

The war room is in chaos when Alec gets to the top of the elevator. The room is abuzz with laughter. Someone has busted out a couple six-packs and Izzy stands on the centre console shot-gunning a beer while Clary looks on in a kind of dumbfounded fascination. Jace appears to be wrestling with Kolwak and other members of the first away team.

“We got Romanski,” a voice says.

Alec turns.

Magnus is leaning against the wall next to the lift. He’s ditched the jacket. His sleeves are pushed up to his elbows. He looks like he might have shotgunned a beer himself at some point.

“I knew we would,” Alec says, moving to stand in front of him.

Magnus’ expression is reserved.

“You okay?”

“She threw me off in there and I made a mistake.” His expression remains closed but softens a little at the edges. “What did she say to you after I left?”

“Nothing.”

Magnus studies his face. It’s nerve-racking.

“We can talk about it later if you think we need to, but I need to close the loop on this with Alicante and get my Shadowhunters to stop dancing on my war room consoles.” He puts a hand on Magnus’ shoulder. “Okay?”

“Okay,” he says.

“This, all this, is because of you,” Alec says, tapping a finger against Magnus’ sternum. “This means a lot to a lot of people. This saves lives.”

“I know,” Magnus says. “Do you need me to do some kind of debrief? Stick around?”

“No. Not unless you want to stay.” He indicates the chaos behind him. “It’s a party for at least a few more minutes.”

He shrugs. “I could shotgun a beer.”

“I won’t stop you.”

He smiles. “I might head back to my place actually. I’m a bit wiped.”

“Okay. Then I’ll come over tonight. We’ll talk about this. Or not. We can eat ice cream and drink if you want. Whatever. Sound like a plan?”

Magnus laughs. “Sounds like a plan.”

Alec hesitates. Then quickly moves forward and meets Magnus in a what he intended to be fast, reassuring moment of contact but ends up lingering. He has to force himself to pull away. Magnus leaves and Alec goes to work. He ignores how his hands ache where his nails dug into his palms. He shakes it off and tells Izzy to stop twerking on his control console. 

 

* * *

 

“Your ice cream is melting.”

“Hmm?”

Magnus kicks him in the ankle. “It’s melting on my carpet, space case.”

Alec snaps out of it and realizes, yes, the cone in his hand is dribbling on the floor. There are lots of ways to handle this. Like calmly using his fingers to wipe the mess or licking it away or just getting up and going to the kitchen. What his brain chooses to do in that moment, however, is just shove the entire remaining ice cream cone in his mouth. It was not, unfortunately, a small portion of ice cream cone.

“Oh my god,” Magnus says.

“Shut up,” he says, or tries to say, around the mass of ice cream and waffle cone he’s trying to chew.

“You’re like a heathen,” Magnus says.

“Shh.”

“You’re like a chipmunk.”

Alec smacks his arm, but Magnus just grins.

“Do you need help?”

“I’m gonna punch you,” Alec manages.

Magnus doesn’t seem worried. He swings his legs up on the couch so his knees are lying across Alec’s lap, laying back to lounge across his entire couch rather like Alec is not there, or simply part of the furniture. It’s very much like getting perched on by a cat. Alec adjusts his legs so he can fit his fingers at the back of Magnus’ knee and the other on his ankle, his partner’s weight a comforting familiarity across the top of his thighs.

Magnus, who is not distracted, is eating his own ice cream cone with no drama.

Eventually, Alec sorts himself out and asks, “It’s almost 2AM. And you seem like you’re not going to sleep. So…?”

“Should we talk?” Magnus asks.

“If you want to.”

“Hmm, even if I don’t want to. We should.”

“Yeah,” Alec says. He drums his thumb against the side of Magnus’ boot. “I’m sorry about today. I know everything turned out okay, but I still feel like it was the wrong decision. Like I should never have negotiated with her.”

Magnus shrugs. “That’s because it was the right decision in a utilitarian way, but made you feel lousy on a personal level.”

“Well, when you say it like that I just sound irrational.”

“No. It makes you sound like a human being.” Magnus tosses his ice cream cone over his shoulder and it vanishes somewhere between his fingers and the floor. He peers at Alec, “You know I don’t blame you. Camille put us in an impossible position. I feel like you think I’m upset with you.”

“I feel like you could be if you wanted. I did ask you to do a shitty thing.”

Magnus reaches up to touch Alec’s jaw with two fingers. “I don’t want to,” he says clearly.

“I hate when my job puts us in a cross.”

“Me too, but I wouldn’t be dating a shadowhunter if I hadn’t thought seriously about your job conflicting with my personal life.” Magnus lays back again, folding his arms behind his head. “Seems like a fairly big logistical error on my part.”

Alec doesn’t say anything for a moment.

Then, “Magnus, how many other partners have you lost?”

Magnus sits up on his elbows. “What?”

“I… sorry. I didn’t –” Alec waves his hands. “That came out… terrible. God. Sorry.”

“No. It’s fine.” Magnus touches his arm. “Alec. It’s fine. I was just… surprised.” He shifts his weight a little, watching Alec. Almost warily. :It’s not that I won’t tell you, but can I ask what prompted this?”

Alec looks away.

“Today. When I was alone with Camille. She did say something to me.” He feels idiotic but it’s too late to take it back now. “Stupid shit,” he says, shaking his head. “At first about immortality. Which, I know, we’ve talked about. But I thought she was going to say something obvious like, you’d leave me when I got older. That we’d become strangers because of it. That you wouldn’t stay with me.  Something completely untrue that I could just… you know, ignore.”

“But she didn’t,” Magnus says, his brow knitted.

“No. God, the opposite. She practically congratulated me.”

“Ugh.” He looks appalled.  “What else did she say?”

“Just… Magnus, I know I said before: I’m okay with the fact you’re gonna outlive me. But I can’t lie; it’s really bugging me what she said about everything on a timeline. I know it’s what she wants but I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Magnus seems lost. Alec has left him wary and puzzled on the shore of his anxieties. Great.

“About what specifically?”

“This idea that I can’t –” Alec stops. Tries again, “I could spend my entire life being in love with you… and it could end up being nothing to you.”

Magnus looks stricken.

“ _What_?”

“I know it’s extreme but… she has a point.”

“You could never be _nothing_ to me,” Magnus says, visibly horrified.

“Look, get what you’re saying and I appreciate it, but I could be a… a bookmark.” He hears Camille’s words come out of his mouth – like a child echoing an adult – and feels a pang of panic suddenly. “Magnus, I don’t even know how old you are. What is fifty years to you? Or eighty? If your two-thousand years old or something, how could you not end up forgetting people? And I _know_ that’s not fair –”

“It’s also not how it works,” Magnus says, cutting him off.

“Isn’t it?” Alec huffs. “C’mon. Magnus. I hate Camille, but I don’t think she’s wrong about –”

Magnus moves forward immediately. Fast. He hooks his hands behind Alec’s neck and pulls him down to him until they’re pressed brow-to-brow where he holds Alec like you hold fast to a rockface in a storm. He’s breathing a little fast, with an urgency that’s clumsy in its desperation. He fumbles to rise up, to swing one knee over Alec so he’s straddling him, which is an arresting thing to do in and of itself and Alec Lightwood forgets, for a moment, how to breathe.

“Alexander,” says the immortal sitting on top of him. “You can never be nothing to me.”

“It’s okay –” Alec starts.

“Because I don’t forget things like that,” Magnus continues. “It’s not how my memory works. Because I _love_ you and because _no one_ is a bookmark.” He takes one hand and presses his fingers into his chest, just below the hollow of his throat. “Because every time I lose someone,” he whispers, “even when I lose them to a long and happy life, _time does not heal that_.”

He drops his hand again. Alec feels his fingertips ghost his shoulders, like he’s not sure where to touch him to convince him of an intangible thing, a man who can conjure anything with no spell for this. He breathes in frustration. His hands are on Alec’s arms, gripping tight, thumbs pressing into the inside of his elbow where his pulse rushes ever faster. Magnus is so close, Alec feels his breath on his skin.

 “It’s ironic,” he says, “because the thing you’re afraid of is the thing Camille hates about me. That I _don’t_ let time wear things away like she does.” Magnus drops his forehead against Alec’s. He whispers, “I could forget you like I could forget someone taking my hand off at the wrist.”

Alec gives up on finding the right thing to say.

He just loops his arms around the warlock and pulls him close. He yanks Magnus in, pressing his hands into the lines of his back, dragging fingers from his shoulder blades to the place where his lower back meets his waist. He feels Magnus dig his knees into the sofa. Feels him rock forward, drop his weight into Alec’s lap in the same moment Alec set his hands on Magnus’ hips. Let’s Magnus loop his fingers through his hair and close his fist at the back of his head, press his mouth against Alec’s forehead, his nose, then (eventually) his mouth.

Alec kind of forgets anything else he was thinking about.

He’d be a little self-conscious about the noises he’s making except Magnus is gasping in this kind of ragged frantic way that removes any usual anxiety. Alec grabs Magnus at the back of both knees and rolls sideways, reversing their positions. So Magnus is on his back underneath him, grabbing at his shirt, at his belt, rolling his hips up and kissing him with a kind of distracted desperation. Alec buries his face in Magnus’s throat, kissing him there until the warlock laughs, shivering, then moaning as Alec opens his mouth against his skin and tastes salt.

“Alec…”

“I’ve got you,” Alec says. He kisses Magnus. “I’ve got you, okay?”

Magnus kind of chuckles, the sound rolling breathless from his chest.  “I know.”

“Lie back.” Alec is pulling Magnus’ shirt from his waistband, unfastening his belt. “Relax.” He slides a hand over the front Magnus’ jeans, under his shirt, pushing the hem up so he can lean down and kiss the curve of his hipbone, listen to Magnus hiss and tense up when he does it. “Relax,” he says again, closing his hands on his partner’s clothes, drawing his jeans down from his waist. “Let me…”

“Not stopping you,” Magnus points out, sounding a little strangled.

Alec laughs against Magnus stomach, kissing him there. Then lower. Feels Magnus fingers against his hair, tentative at first, then settling there and something about that is… interesting. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of Magnus’ underwear and moves forward in the same moment his pulls down. Magnus draws a sharp shuddering breath and his hands close instinctively in Alec’s hair. Every muscle in his lower body tenses up, coiling like a drawn bowstring.

“Alec,” he says, like he’s going to say something else, but Alec grips Magnus at the waist and anything else he intended to say breaks apart into a mindless aching moan. “Alec,” he says again, eventually, desperately. “Alec, _please_ …”

He doesn’t have another shift at the Institute until morning.

He’s going to regret, just a little, being awake until 4am. But not really. Because he wakes up in bands of sunlight coming through the windows, to the smell of sandalwood and the cologne Magnus keeps in a drawer in the bathroom. He wakes up the next morning and Magnus mumbles something about breakfsst and kind of sleepily snaps his fingers. Somewhere in the kitchen, appliances start to rattle around.

Alec leans down, kisses the place where Magnus jaw meet his ear. Listens to the lazily, happy sigh this gets him and ignores the part of him that thinks, very softly, _I have to find a way to stay here._ He gets dressed like it’s the first day in the fifty years ahead.

**Author's Note:**

> Look. I am taking lots of liberty with that implied gap in between season 2 and 3 and assuming everyone got a bit of a breather after Clary saved the world or whatever. Also, my entire jam is Alec Lightwood doing admin boss stuff at the Institute and being exasperated. Also: I totally feed off of comments and feedback and questions because I just rolled up to this fandom so I want to talk about everything.


End file.
